The Other F-Word. Fitness.

Fitness, wellness, health. All good things but when you speak the words out loud everyone is put on edge.

I love to exercise and that is a blessing.  I grew up skinny and sort of sporty. At 16 I went to Gordonstoun, which is the most Outward Bound school in the world. During those years I did kind of shrink away from the mountaineering. Being forced into cold showers and morning runs will put most people off the joy of movement.

I then stumbled into a modeling career and suddenly weight and looks became the paramount focus of everyone around me. I found my way through that by going back to being sporty rather than following some grim diet. I’m not good at sticking to a diet or eating sensibly. I could happily start breakfast with a bar of chocolate. I lay the blame completely at my mother’s feet. Growing up on holiday in Ireland we made giant pots of fudge. I was neither tall enough to peer into the vat nor old enough to stay up for dinner, when the delicious fudge was served. My mother would leave two squares by my bedside so I wouldn’t miss out completely. Little did she know that I ate them as soon as I opened my eyes, setting the stage for a lifetime of chocolate breakfasts.

So I could never control any of that focus on size and shape with food. I could only control the exercise.

My exercise journey is rather like life itself It’s matured with me. I make absolute certain that I carve out an hour most days for me to exercise. It’s not even that I’m exercising to lose weight or stay fit. It’s my  hour of meditation.  I map it out I put in my calendar. I do everything I can to stick to it, even if it means running in a pair of ballet shoes, which isn’t as bad as it sounds because Domino points out that I’m not even running, I’m slow walking and moving my arms. Whatever it takes, I do it every day.

In my 50s, I’ve started to mix it up. I started yoga, and became that friend who goes around asking, “Have you ever done yoga? You must try yoga.” If an opportunity to work with a trainer, play pickleball, or kite surf comes up, I’m in. All of it is pushing my body in a different way. I am super aware that one’s body does change, but we can help it change gracefully through regular exercise.

To spice it up, challenge yourself and set new goals. Push yourself out of doing the 3.5 mile run you can do on autopilot. The trainer I found in Paris was working on my spirit. He asks, “Do you ever get a massage?  Do you ever watch the sunrise” It’s kind of spiritual in there, and likely just what I need in this moment.

If you miss three or four days. If you miss a week, it’s okay. You must get back into it.

When you see someone who is very successful in business, you understand that this person has worked like mad at it. When you see someone with a fantastic glow of health, who looks well in their clothes and moves with ease, understand that they work at it. Even if they started out skinny and sort of sporty, they’ve worked along the way.

My relationship with exercise is lovely. We understand each other. It’s much more gentle and healthier to exercise than to focus on diet, which sets you up for failure.

I know what it’s like to fail. I simply cannot live without chocolate. I cannot go a day without red licorice. My Diet Coke addiction is real. I saw a doctor who said I had high cholesterol. They suggested I think about a plant-based diet. I have shitty disgusting fake sugar coursing through my veins and have no desire to cut back on cheese.

As we get older, my advice is to just keep moving. Keep running, walking, swimming, down dogging, rolling a parent. It’s a gift, the ability to exercise and one I like to use.